


The Tube

by crimsonwinter



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Bottom!Lock, Confessions, Dating, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Smut, M/M, NSFW, Oral Sex, Smut, explicit - Freeform, office!verse, relationships, safe sex, sherlock x john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 19:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1399342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonwinter/pseuds/crimsonwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By request, Sherlock and John meet on the tube and develop an after-work relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For moistphan on tumblr.
> 
> They gave me a pretty specific prompt, but I did the best I could (despite changing the order or some events.)
> 
> I hope you like it!

Sherlock Holmes was just an ordinary man with an extraordinary mind. He worked an ordinary job in an extraordinarily ordinary office. He took the ordinary tube on this extraordinary day.

The tall man was handsome in the sense that you could never be bored upon looking at him. He had a slender face, topped with magnificent cheekbones and ever-changing eyes. His brow was thick and furrowed most days, and his dark curled hair was wild and free, unlike himself. His long, prominent, rather large nose was slightly pulled up as he carried himself, his regal composure too royal to be crammed into a matched set of office workers. His spectacular mind was bound behind a small cubicle and the only pleasure he sought was in the form of deducing his co-workers, figuring out what they'd done the night before by the clothes they wore today.

The man filed through the platform, the clinking, whistling, and shuffling of the life around him a dull surrounding. It was routine, this commute. The same broken light flickered on the electronic sign and the man kicked at the same curb as he waited. When the white underground train with an occasional red car slowed to a stop, he lifted his shiny black shoe and stepped inside lightly, although his shoulders sagged. His dark trousers and fitted suit jacket clean and pristine, crumpled slightly as he shifted his way to his usual spot. He watched the people with sharp eyes, his full lips twitching into a smirk as he deduced something particularly personal.

_That one just failed his diet,_ he thought. _Not that it was working._ The man squeezed his belly in beside Sherlock and another passenger, crumbs from his morning snack stuck in the corners of his mouth. He felt Sherlock's intense gaze and shifted uneasily. The genius looked away and lifted his sharp eyes to the woman in the pink suit who always got off the stop before him. Sherlock remembered her because of the color of her outfit, but if she'd worn a plain grey work outfit like the other overprepared women on the tube, Sherlock would've deleted her face each time he stepped down from the balked train. It pulled forward slowly and Sherlock steadied his rear against the wall behind him. Once comfortably chugging through the tunnels, Sherlock went about his deductions on the saccharinely dressed woman. She was tired and run down, but her nails and face were always treated and glittered. Today she smelled of smoke.

_Picked up the smoking habit again. Seems appropriate, her string of lovers have been less than satisfying this week. Something else… Something else…_ The woman tightened her thighs beneath her tight skirt and furrowed her brow in discomfort, but after a few seconds, it seemed to fade and she was nearly smug. _Menstruating. Uncomfortable and irritating, but she's glad not to be pregnant. Not after that scare last month._

The man dropped his vision down to the toes of his shoes. The blue tile beneath them was scuffed, lacking the innocence that his meticulously groomed office shoes never went a day without. Sherlock stifled a sigh with a scrunch of his nose. He was aware that his habit of diving into the passengers' personal lives was pathetic at best, but it kept his routine life interesting. Working for the same company for the past seven years, directly out of university, was exactly where he'd hoped his life would take him, but now that he was here…

_What's the point? Mycroft tells me to look for happiness, but I don't think it exists. Not for me. Not for these people. Not for those who take the tube every morning. Look at us. Look at them. All these people with their silly little lives and their funny worlds. They think they're the only ones struggling to make it through. Lest they know that I can see everything. The man they stand next to, who is uncomfortably close, has just been dumped. Baby spit-up is drying on that woman's shoulder and she doesn't know. Horrid that she has to leave the boy alone though, when she's at work. The nanny treats him well, which is a relief. Not that he'd be any better off with his mother. It's all pointless.They're all pathetic. Ordinary, funny little people with ordinary, funny little brains. I don't envy them._ This sort of internal dialogue and useless deductions continued for the better part of eight minutes before the car approached the next station.The tube slowed to a stop and a group of passengers filed on. Sherlock pressed himself backwards harder with their arrival, a large screw in the metalwork of the car stabbing into his tailbone painfully. He grimaced but didn't shift positions, the pain kept him relatively sane. _Of course, it's not like my current situation is extremely interesting,_ he continued with an impassive countenance. _Nothing happens to me._

As if on some strange cue, Sherlock felt a rift in the atmosphere as the new group of passengers reached for handles and found empty seats, the doors sliding closed. The tube resumed its route. Upon leaving his deduction victims alone and directing his attention towards the change, Sherlock felt that there was something coming. An "east wind," as his brother would've called it. Sherlock strained his eyes and scanned the crowd. The same placid faces in dim yellow light met his gaze, their heads turned towards their shoes or phones. One head was up, however. It was a man's. He was shorter than most of the other men, and his hair was light, so it stood out against the dark suited shoulders of those around him. His attention was darting from the advertisements up high, and as his attentive eyes finally drifted closer to where Sherlock was now numbly leaning, he felt his stomach drop. Sherlock Holmes had the strangest feeling that this new person wouldn't be new for long. His face came into view, his eyes soaking in the information for flute lessons.

The man's countenance was worn as if he'd seen some atrocity in his past, but it was rugged and mannish and handsome nonetheless. Although his eyes were heavy with tired bags, they were bright and intelligent. With the passing colors that flickered in through the useless windows, his irises changed from forest green to navy blue. His thin mouth was slightly agape as if he was stunned at the silence of those oblivious to his curious beauty. His nose was wide and unusual and Sherlock found himself strangely wanting to touch it with his own. He shook the thought away and returned his gaze to his shoes, but his stomach had sunk into his knees and he needed to close his eyes and focus on the paced moving of the car before he opened them once more. When he did, he wondered if the man would still be there when he brought his gaze to the spot he'd been, almost ten feet away.

He was.

He was also looking back at Sherlock, his face loose and slack as if he'd seen a ghost. His eyes were off-putting and adult, as if he'd make a stern father. Sherlock muttered under his breath and dropped his eyes, wondering if the man had seen him fluster. He retreated into his intelligent mind in hopes that the rational facts he played out would calm him. Said facts were these; Sherlock was nearly thirty and barely experienced in the realm of approaching men and asking them out. He was so socially inept at being kind and basic intelligence that those who had gotten close to him in the past, such as his first boyfriend, left rather quickly after discovering he was needier or ruder than they'd anticipated. Sherlock was told from a young age that love comes second to work and academic success, but the fact that he was even using the word love to link the points in his mind map proved that it was more important to him than he let on. Mycroft would have shaken his head and said, "Caring is faulty. Sentiment is a disadvantage," or something of that nature.

Darting his eyes back up to the man, who was now on his phone, caused Sherlock to remember exactly what his older brother had said. "Caring is not an advantage. All hearts are broken." Mycroft never really was one for romance, though. _Prat._

Sherlock had been single for the last few years and the only dates he had gone on had been purely submissive, the man having asked him out and wooing him dully. Sherlock was less than excited about approaching a man on the tube and asking him to go for tea. Of course, there was the lurking feeling that the man would be straight and have a wife, or worse, be a new coworker. Sherlock forced himself to stare for longer than he wanted, and he began to deduce the man. It was quick and sloppy due to the feeling that he'd run out of time; the first day he'd see him coming to a close sooner than he'd hoped. He wanted to draw it out in case anything were to happen in the future, be it two minutes or four days.

_Tan skin and blonde hair that was once darker; he goes outside. Tense body posture. Experienced trauma. Lower quality phone. Hand-me-down? Too far to see the brand. His clothes are clean but have not been recently ironed. He probably doesn't have the time or the energy. He's looking around as if this was his first time taking the tube, and he keeps darting his eyes at the people around him as if he expects one of them to sneeze loudly. He's put his phone away, he seems bored with it. Trouble with the person he was texting? He's almost impatient. Fidgeting._ The man met Sherlock's gaze once more, quickly, as if his goal of moving his eyes was to directly find Sherlock's. He darted them away. He licked his lips.

Sherlock's abdomen fluttered with hope, a slight prickle of pink arising at the tips of the stranger's ears and nose. _That's cute. Maybe I have a chance._ The man distracted himself by letting his curious eyes fall on the handsome businessman to his right. His eyes glazed past the fit woman directly in front of him, her red curls coiled as tight as her skirt. Sherlock's stranger lingered on the suited male passenger. The man was reading a newspaper, his brows dark and thick, one lifted higher than the other. The blonde man shifted his weight onto the other foot and dragged his eyes away from his sharp figure slowly and let them glide down to his feet. _Definitely a chance, then. Shit._

The rest of the ride was as silent as it could be with the crying of a child who was brought on at the next stop. Sherlock looked up occasionally. He fiddled with his briefcase handle or fingered his buttons to pass the time, but a sense of sadness settled in him as the man got off on the stop preceding his. He deduced that they might have relatively close buildings. Sherlock watched the man step out of the transport and disappear into the crowd, his blonde head visible before ducking out of the window's frame. Sherlock let out a sigh, his brow sore from being furrowed for so long. Sherlock wiggled his numb foot and finally moved his position, his tailbone now red and raw from the digging of the blunt screw. He waited for a few more minutes quietly, unaware that he was biting his full bottom lip. His stop finally arrived, the speaker beeping across the system. He rolled his wrists as if they'd give him strength before he pushed through the crowd and into the streets, finally able to breathe. His mind raced with the man's face and posture. How his curious eyes were fascinated by the fading ads, darted over his phone, and eventually landed on Sherlock's face.

Sherlock mindlessly let his feet carry him across the cement, the city beginning to awaken. He was pushed along with the crowd and into his building, up to the fifth floor, through the grey, white, and blue office, and into his cubicle. His favorite acquaintance (he didn't have friends, really) called him out on his expression as he approached their adjoining areas.

"You look paler than usual, Holmes." She swiveled her chair towards him, her maroon silk shirt crinkling as she raised her arms to cross them over her breasts. He paused before answering as he let himself collapse into his own chair, his mind fried from the twenty minutes he'd taken the tube for. He lifted his heavy lids, his small grey clock displaying the time. _Right on point, as usual. Eight-thirty and ready to work til six._

"How can that be possible, Hudson?" Sherlock finally raised his body from its diagonal and sat stiffly in front of his computer and turned it on, the day's paperwork already piled beside him. He had no pictures of family or friends, just a periodic table poster, a bland calendar, and perfect pencils and pens in grey holders on his dull desk.

The woman with medium length orange hair scooted her chair around the edge of the cubicle. She was older than Sherlock by a decade, but her spunk was all there. She was a refreshing change from the eager twenty five year old women in clicking black heels that paraded their tight bums around the office. "Sherlock," she said, "I told you to call me Martha. Hudson makes me sound old, and I don't need another reason to remind me that I'm forty. And I'm the only one who can use last names, it's my thing."

"Right, of course. Isn't it about time you swiveled back around and began your mindless typing, or am I going to have to tell Barry that you couldn't visit him last night because you'd rather watch The Bachlorette?"

The woman tensed but stayed put. "Don't you dare, Holmes. And it was a good episode. Sarah got the rose - "

"I don't care." _My mind is preoccupied with a certain stranger, and I'd rather not discuss rigged American romantic T.V. with you._

"Stingier than usual. Tell me what's on that incredible mind of yours."

Sherlock's computer had finally warmed and was able to run smoothly, and he typed random letters on the keys as to feign work. He didn't lift his eyes from his slender fingers which somehow ended up typing "STRANGER" into the document. His bottom lip twitched when Martha cleared her throat expectantly.

"Oh, please don't let me keep you from your job." He said, sneering.

"I won't go away until you tell me." She inched closer, the worn wheels of her chair making a horrible sound as they scraped across the linoleum. Sherlock gave in and stopped typing. He was on time. He could take thirty seconds to explain to a coworker that he'd seen a handsome man on the tube, couldn't he?

Sherlock met her eyes, green flecked with gold, their intensity burning with impatience and excitement. "There was a handsome man on the tube this morning."

Martha Hudson clapped happily, the frill at the dipping line of her shirt lifting as she bounced slightly in her chair. "Oh, that's great! What's his name?"

"I don't know. I just watched - I mean, I just saw him."

"Is he gay?"

"I don't know. Probably not."

"Doesn't matter. You should've talked to him." Sherlock resumed his tapping, typing "STRANGER" again with the addition of "GAY?" He pushed his knees together tightly, the pressure of his touching bones easing some of his anxiety.

"I know. That's all, get to work."

Martha stood and walked the two steps needed to get close to her coworker, her black skirt smoothing down to rest above her knees, "Nope. Sherlock, you've been single and unhappy in all the years I've known you. Take a chance."

Sherlock swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. "I don't know if he'll take the tube again."

"Holmes." Martha turned her back as quickly as she'd stood and retreated to her cubicle as she caught a sight of Barry making his way through the aisles. The boss would want to see her working, even if he saw her working in "other fields" on the weekends. "Who takes the tube at eight in the morning on a Monday once?"

Sherlock deleted the section he'd typed as Barry passed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock really is magnificent, isn't he?

John Watson clenched and released his fists nervously as he followed the push of people. He was thrown back into the workplace on this Monday morning. He was having trouble adapting to civilian life and the force of the crowd on the streets. His first job opportunity since returning from the war was staring him in the face and he'd nearly had no means of getting there. The women and men that guided him brought him to a tube platform, where he was told to go in order to get to his office. The last time he'd taken the tube was maybe five years ago, when he was still fresh and new. Of course, he was no more than one or two years older than thirty, but his time in the war made him feel old and past his prime. He waited patiently with the others, including a woman with red curls and a tight black skirt. She was beautiful by the standards and more, but John "didn't swing that way" and just smiled pleasantly at her. She didn't smile back.

The bustling platform massed into a small clump as the white and red tube pulled up slowly. John filed in with the others, his less-than-exiciting attempt at business clothes sticking out against the formality of those beside him. He stepped in behind the snotty woman and was corralled into a spot. The tube was different than it was five years ago, its seats and floors matching with a sort of strained intent. He took it all in, a small flutter arising suspiciously in his stomach. He let his eyes wander to the advertisements above him.

He read them in his head, the long stretch of advertisements leading his eyes father to his left over his shoulder.

_Be kind, give your seat up to those who need it._

_Finance trouble? Call Smiths Finance._

_Don't be rude, respect your fellow passengers._

_Veteranarian Sally Donovan new location, bring your pets in for flea shots!_

_Prevent AIDS. Use protection._

_Anderson's Memorabilia shop - Comics! DVDs! Records!_

_Interested in learning flute? Schedule an appointment at the Music Palace or call here._

John's eyes began darting around at the faces of the passengers behind him. There was a woman in a pink suit who looked rather beaten down, another woman with headphones, and a big man who looked particularly uncomfortable squished between two fit men. One of them was pressed hard into the corner of the car, his attention at his shoes. With longer speculation, John discovered that he was magnificent.

 _Wow…_ John thought helplessly. The man was dressed to the nines, a dark suit jacket fitted to his thin waist and solid shoulders. His skin was alabaster and pure, with a strange inhuman quality about it. His face was long and sharp, different and extremely captivating. His dark curls contrasted the pale nature of his eyes, but they were downcast and John couldn't determine their color. He had the feeling they'd be beautiful, and he wished the man would look up. His regal nature, as if he were a painting, jumped to life as he lifted his head directly to John, his eyes shooting sparks through John's knees. They were brilliantly green, almost frighteningly so. His high cheekbones caused John's mouth to hang open slightly in awe. He then noticed full, thick lips which caused his ears to heat. John and the stranger were both flustered, but the dark haired man dropped his eyes quickly. John watched for a few more seconds in hopes that he'd look back up, but he did no such thing, and John turned away.

He took out his phone. _Wow. Just wow. My first opportunity at a normal life and this beauty waltzes in. He's probably straight._ John pretended to text someone, his brows furrowed as he puzzled over the incredible stranger. There was something about him that felt almost supernatural. _Actually, straight guys don't dress that nice. Well, not usually. God, I hope he's not straight. Please, just give me this. I served my country and risked my life for years. Can he please just be gay, or even queer?_ John spoke to the universe as he darted his eyes back up to check if the stranger was still there.

John turned his head back over his left shoulder once more, his eyes directly finding the tall man's. He snapped his head back around, those eyes boring into him and causing him to think of what they'd be like looking up at him from between his legs. He licked his lips involuntarily.

He decided to put his phone away and look at the prat of a man on his right in some ridiculous attempt to make it obvious that he liked men. Not that the stranger would see him, but… Just in case. John felt the stranger's gaze on him, his pale face standing out against the black suits through the corner of his eye. He shifted on his feet, and slowly pulled his gaze from the dark browed man and back to his shoes.

John let his mind be corrupted by flooding images of chiseled pale skin, damp with droplets from a shower. He thought of gripping the stranger's hips and topping him, and he even closed his eyes as he readjusted. _Real classy, John. Fantasizing on the tube. Welcome back - have a increase sex drive! Not that I lacked one during the war. Oh, don't go down that road._ John shook his head slightly in order to push the dirty war orgies out and replaced them with silver moonlight dancing in the stranger's dark curls. John thought of how his eyes would look in a sunset and what those full lips tasted like. He took his phone out for a second time, a soundtrack of imaginary moans still playing in his head. He checked the address of his new office. Two stops from this one.

The ex war doctor filled the remaining ten minutes with intense fantasies. He may or may not have included public sex in the tube itself in his wandering thoughts. He thought of pushing through the crowd and pressing himself against the man, forcing a wanton moan from the professional. As he licked his lips again, the thought that the man worked in the same office as him crashed into his head. _Shit, no fooling around with coworkers!_ John clenched his hands again as he thought having the get off the tube and have the lax man follow him into his new building. He could even be his section manager, for all he knew.

Luckily, John's stop came before he thought of introducing himself nervously and he disappeared before he could let himself be seen. He pushed his way through and only turned around when he was far enough away from the platform to hide behind a tree. The stranger was nowhere to be seen. He wasn't a coworker. John felt a peaceful sadness arise in him. He wanted to see the stranger again, but he was glad that there was no overlap with work.

John walked the streets, following both the crowd and the directions his employer had given him. His eyes watched the crosswalk signs and passing cars, but his mind recounted the indescribable air about the man he'd seen. I _t was as if he was aristocracy, even though he was just leaning cramped in the corner of the tube… So handsome. He had a nice neck, too._ John thought unintellectual thoughts, his usual intelligence dumbed down by surprise and attraction. He let his thoughts continue down the line until he was picturing himself biting the stranger's thighs as he moved closer to his groin. By this point, he'd been crammed in an elevator. Two sharply dressed men murmured to themselves, and John tore his imagination away for long enough to ask if he was going in the right direction. The men told him that he was, with a touch of snark, and continued on their conversation. John picked up his fantasy where he'd left off. When he reached the blessed point between the man's thighs and was happily sucking him off, the elevator dinged his floor number, as he'd been told, and walked into the grey, white, and black area.

He wasn't exactly sure what he'd be doing, but it involved computers and writing, and his therapist told him it'd be a good way to get back into civilian life after the events of the war. He checked his phone again, Cubicle 221, Section B.

John Watson shuffled into the wheeled chair and mindlessly fluttered through the example prompt on his desk. His computer had a message from his therapist, who was more of a pushy friend, on a post-it note stuck on it. _I've told your boss that you've just returned from the war. Don't slack off - just take a week or so to get used to writing and then he'll give you a prompt. Good luck! And John, be nice._

John was slightly offended by her babying, but was grateful that his boss knew of his situation. He removed the note and turned the computer on. He spent the next half hour thinking of the stranger and typing away at a loose narrative about his favorite cases as a war doctor. A man appeared beside him.

"You fancy amputations?" John's stomach jumped with surprise, but he turned towards the man after a moment, eager to have someone to talk to. The man was handsome with a round face and dark eyes. He wasn't as strikingly beautiful as the stranger, but he did have the same regal appeal about him.

"I'm supposed to get used to writing again, see?" He handed him the post-it note, thinking it'd explain his situation better. He turned back towards the monitor as the man read.

"John, is it? Jim." John smiled as he dragged his eyes away from the writing on the screen. He held back his flirtations with the strange notion that he already had someone in mind to flirt with.

"Hello," John shook his hand, now formally acknowledging his presence. His therapist told him to introduce himself and try and make friends, so he took her advice. "I don't mean to be the child with the biggest toys at this company, but my therapist pulled some strings so I was set up with a place and job after I came back. Do you work in this section?"

The man leaned against the cubicle's edge, "Yes. I've been here a few years, and I must admit you got the best end of the deal. Just wait a few weeks. You'll be wanting to put a gun in your mouth after that." The man seemed unfazed by his comment, his nearly black eyes shining mysteriously. John chuckled nervously.

"Jim. Jim what?"

"Moriarty."

"John Watson." There was a tense moment between the men before Jim spoke.

"Well, I'd better be off, if you have any questions, just ask. I'm over there." Jim nodded towards a vague direction in the maze of the office floor and looked back down at John, grinning with eyes that lingered a little too long on John's. As he moved to walk away, John spoke.

"Actually, I do have a question." _Fuck it, I need to tell someone._

"Shoot." Jim Moriarty resumed his lax position on the edge of the cubicle.

John Watson swiveled his chair to face the man better, his front and whole body now facing the man's, rather than his profile. The ex soldier felt rather uncomfortable that he was sitting and the man was standing. He forced the salacious thoughts that flooded into his head as they had with the stranger on the tube away and cleared his throat. "I saw a person on the tube today."

Jim cocked a brow, "Why yes, there are usually people on the tube."

John almost aborted his confession but stuck with it. "They were really attractive and I want to see them again, but it was a fleeting moment on public transportation so that seems hopeless."

"Not as hopeless as you might think. People don't normally take the tube just once on a Monday morning. If you go back tomorrow at the same stop at the same time, you'll probably see them again, most likely in the same general area. What did they look like?"

"They," John didn't use the male pronoun in case Jim was less than accepting, although based on his posture and smile, that didn't seem to be the case. "They were tall and fit. Pale skin and curly dark hair. Really startling green eyes. The thing that caught my attention the most was that they looked as if they were out of place on something as common as the tube. They had too regal a form to be cramped in the corner. I was rather far away, but I know that if I'd been closer and not as tightly packed in, I might've spoken to them."

"You didn't, though."

"I didn't." John swallowed, his dry throat tightening.

"Well, curly dark hair and green eyes. Sounds like a beauty."

John's countenance sparked to life with addition of this fact, "And cheekbones! God, those cheekbones." John did not see the informality in what they were speaking of.

Something strange flashed in Jim Moriarty's eyes, "Ah."

Jim noticed that the boss was coming around the corner; he disappeared silently. John missing it due to his wandering thoughts taking him into a land of handsome strangers on the tube. He caught himself just in time, and swiveled back around to type once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My references to other people in the Sherlock!verse make me happy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grow some balls and do it, Sherl.

Sherlock left his flat thinking of the stranger, walked the streets to the platform thinking of the stranger, and entered the tube thinking of the stranger. He found a place more comfortable than the last in the crowded area, the Tuesday morning crowd the same, but the people in various places around the car. Sometimes there were new passengers, most times not. Sherlock hoped the stranger took the tube once again this morning. Sherlock's dark suit jacket contained his lean, graceful body and he stood with one hand on a hold above his head, his other hand clutching his briefcase. He deduced the people as he waited for the stop that the man had arrived on. He couldn't keep his wild mind contained, and his deductions soon became a steady stream of narration.

 _I'm foolish for assuming I'd be able to talk to him when he gets on. If he gets on at all, that is. I haven't asked anyone out, really, and he might reject me. He might have a horrible sounding voice. He might be deaf. He might have a wife. No, okay. You're okay. It's all fine. He looked at the handsome man and licked his lips after seeing me. There's a chance. What if it was a mistake? No, no, no. I've been stressing and thinking of this since yesterday morning for a reason. It'll be fine. He wasn't on the tube back last night. What time does he get off work? What if he just took the tube to his lover's apartment in the morning? Lover's. What a strange word. Inamorato is more accurate. He's probably not even going to take it today. No, he will. He was getting used to it yesterday morning, as if he hadn't taken it in ages, so he probably was bracing himself for taking it every day. Okay, okay. Mycroft is wrong. Caring isn't a disadvantage. It drives people. Of course, sometimes they go mad, but mostly they just end up having more friends. I need more friends, even if I claim it slows me down. Seems most of my usual preferences have changed dramatically since meeting this man. I probably even want to shag him. I don't want to shag anyone. But I probably will want to shag him._ The minutes he'd filled with his stream of consciousness and worry ticked by painfully, but the tube stopped at the platform it had the day previous, and Sherlock blinked the haze from his sharp eyes. The tone for the stop sounded. _This is the one._

Sherlock's countenance was cool and calm, his pale jaw clenching slightly as the doors a few feet in front of him opened. His breath hitched. The people filed in. _Mother, brother, sister, construction worker, woman who works with me, drank too much coffee, goldfish just died…_ Sherlock gave a one thought deduction to each of the passengers to calm himself. His stranger stepped on in the middle of the crowd and instantly linked eyes with Sherlock. The tall, collected man's stomach fluttered. _Stranger._

* * *

_Stranger._ John Watson was more than pleased to see the man, his arm stretched above his head, holding tightly onto a grip. The man's eyes widened at the sight of him, as if their gaze had locked as soon as John appeared inside the car. If John hadn't glanced away with embarrassment, he would've seen that the stranger's cheeks turned slightly pink, standing out against his alabaster skin like streaks of strawberry flavor in vanilla yogurt.

The handsome passenger kept his eyes on John as he settled into a spot against the window a few feet away. He leaned cooly, but he was heated. He didn't dare look up until the tube began to move. Once it did, he soaked in the glory of the handsome stranger. He wondered if the man knew he was itching to talk to him.

* * *

Sherlock forced his cheeks to calm, his stomach still tight and fluttering wildly. The familiar man was now dressed in more suitable attire than the messy ensemble he'd thrown together yesterday, a mediocre quality suit. His hair was slicked back and he wore cologne. Sherlock wished to talk to him, but waited until the tube slid along its path. He swallowed his dry throat along with his pride and deduced that it'd be best to force himself to walk towards the stranger, his legs suddenly heavy. He counted to one hundred before he released the grip and took a small step towards the man. He balked when the man looked up and locked eyes with him. _He always does that. He doesn't look around first, just goes directly to me._ Sherlock collected his thoughts and managed a small smile, although his face was hot and control of his bodily functions were shot. The man smiled back, albeit, a tad flustered.

Sherlock took Martha's advice that she'd given him once he left work and "grew some balls." He moved his legs to follow one after the other, as if he waded through molasses, and pushed through the people, hoping he didn't tumble over once the tube turned a corner. The people around him grunted but he disregarded it. The man watched him as he approached, but Sherlock avoided his eyes until he could reach a grip above the man's head and steady himself. They were shifted closer together by a grumpy man's spacious shoulders behind Sherlock, and with the tiniest of imbalances, the incredible man was finally able to see the stranger's face in its entirety.

He was shorter than Sherlock and more handsome than he'd expected. He had deep bags under his eyes, but they gave him an adult look. He was older than the hyperrealistically intelligent man by a few years, and he smelled like gunpowder and biscuits. Sherlock couldn't deduce him as he looked into the man's eyes. He swore they'd been a different color a few moments ago, but now they were navy and deeply satisfying. His blonde hair was thin and looked soft, while his skin was rough with stubble. Sherlock wondered if he himself was still smiling.

* * *

 John Watson's heart beat furiously as he'd watched the man make his way towards him through the shifting crowd and now stood in the flesh only half a foot in front of John's incredulous eyes. The man's long arm reached over John's head, causing a sort of strange tension to bounce in the area between their faces. His, which John greedily soaked up, was breathtaking.

His eyes weren't the green they'd been the day previous, but were now a light turquoise, the yellow shine of the tube catching in them and tinting them with strange gold flecks. His nose was long and sharp, and his lips were full and tantalizing. His curled hair was touched with product, and the wild ringlets sat perfectly groomed on his forehead. He was smiling with his eyes and his mouth, his cheeks striped with fold lines from his tightly drawn lips. He was staring down John with incredible intent. He spoke.

"Hello." His voice hit John like a wave of ice water, and he could almost taste the mint hidden in the deep sound. _Jesus fucking Christ, he's perfect._

John Watson slid his hands into his pockets so he could inconspicuously arrange himself. The man's eyes never faltered from John's face, although John wished he'd glance down and see his tightening crotch. The people around were preoccupied and could care less if the tall, dark stranger pressed him against the window and took him roughly. Of course, that didn't happen. John Watson replied.

"Hi."

* * *

 Sherlock had gotten the first word out, and was now fascinated by the movement of the man. His eyes were heated and he was shifting his hips against the wall of the car. His voice was familiar, as if he'd heard it for decades.

"What's your name?" Sherlock wanted to ask something more intelligent, but he was sure that the stranger wouldn't want to hear about bees or tobacco ash. He blinked and backed his head a few inches away from the man, in case he was uncomfortable with their proximity. He didn't seem it, so Sherlock stayed holding onto the grip, his arm beside the man's head.

"John Watson."

 _John Watson._ It was as if Sherlock had heard that name again and again, muttered in his sleep or screamed it when he couldn't. _Don't get sentimental, Sherlock. Just tell him your name._

"Sherlock Holmes," was all he could bear to say.

The stranger, now John Watson, sharply inhaled. _Why does that sound familiar?_ his inner voice said, seemingly quiet and meek compared to the rumbling tone of the man before him.

Sherlock's brow twitched, _He gasped._ "What?"

"Nothing."

"No, tell me." Sherlock failed to realize that within the first eight seconds of speaking to one another, they'd already begun to bicker and banter like teenage girls.

"I said it's nothing. Is there something you want?" John was oblivious to this fact as well, and he tried desperately hard to keep his eyes on Sherlock's, rather than reveling in the plump soft skin of his lips, just inches lower on his face. John reminded himself that he was a soldier and that he needed to be assertive.

"Why did you gasp?" Sherlock would have the last say and get all the answers if his life had an opportunity to become exceptionally interesting, which was highly probable now that he was chatting with John Watson on the tube.

"I didn't."

"Yes, you did. After I said my name."

John confessed, the man's eyes boring so deeply into his cheeks that he swore he could see his nerves and how ignited they were at that very moment. "It's just …like I've heard it before." John puffed his bottom lip out. "Are you going to interrogate me some more or are you going to chat me up like a normal bloke?" John's eyes widened at his words, curious and surprised at how bluntly he'd put that. Sherlock's face, which had relaxed during his interview, now contorted into another smile, a different one. John liked to think that it was only for him.

"Fine. What do you do for a living?"

"I'm supposed to be writing or something for this newspaper company, but the boss has given me some time to settle." John's words came tumbling out before he had a clue what they'd implied, and his eyes darted to Sherlock's shoes in embarrassment. The tube swayed slightly and Sherlock let himself be pushed by the force closer to John, who seemed unfazed if he'd noticed at all. Sherlock's brain was unusually calm now, and John's words sparked a dash of curiosity, but nothing more. He responded lowly, although nobody on the tube cared at all if two men were creating electric waves of charged romantic tension from the space by the window.

"Settle… Settle… You were a soldier?" Sherlock began to see things clearly. He noticed John's tan and why he smelled like bullets. John, as if an instinct, shifted his left shoulder, where he may have been shot. His eyes had seen atrocities and Sherlock was just now linking them.

"How could you possibly know that?" John was intrigued, curious, amazed, and slightly terrified, but these emotions just meshed into one of completely ignorant attraction, and he found himself blushing as Sherlock dropped his eyes heavily from his forehead to his ankles.

"You carry yourself like you're important and you directed conversation away from yourself in hopes of staying modest. You also seem to not know how to dress yourself when it comes to business and just now you've told me you need to settle. Settle into life? Into a job? Either way, you've been away for a while. Not a vacation, most vacations don't include bulletwounds." Sherlock berated himself internally for letting himself go, and he hoped he wouldn't scare the man off. _Also, you're incredibly attractive and I wouldn't mind pushing you up against the window, your legs tightening around my waist as I ground into you. Are you wearing dog tags? Oh God, I hope you are._ He spoke only to himself, but the strange nature of his internal dialogue made him smirk playfully.

John met his eyes with fascination. _Jesus Christ. Who even is this guy?_ "That's nice and all, but would you mind telling me how long you've been stalking me?" John teased, sure that the man was not, in fact, stalking him. It was a risky joke that he was doubtful of making in those few seconds of silence before answering, but the man seemed to be one of good humor, even if his face dropped back into an expressionless mask when a woman answered her phone loudly. His mouth was taught and motionless as John spoke, but his eyes were firey and alive.

"I deduce people for fun, John." Sherlock used his name within minutes of meeting him. It felt strange, but also pleasant, as if John wouldn't be offended by it.

"Please explain what that means, Sherlock." John nudged Sherlock's reaching arm with his right shoulder, the first initiation of physical contact. He enjoyed taking this risks almost as much as he enjoyed seeing how the man reacted.

 _Definitely gay, then._ Sherlock tightened his grip around the hold above as his stomach mimicked the action. "I can see facts about them based on things like a haircut or a shade of lipstick. It comes naturally to me, but if I put the extra effort in, I can go so much as to find the things that they'd hoped nobody would ever see. It'd be a good skill if I were a detective."

"Aren't you?" John suddenly had the strange urge to wrap his arm around Sherlock's waist, but he didn't. He tucked his hand further into his pocket.

Sherlock's eyes glazed over, shimmering celadon with some unsaid quality. "No, I'm not. Just an ordinary office man."

"You're most certainly not an ordinary man." John assumed he'd only thought that phrase, but once again, his words escaped him before he noticed. Sherlock was now the one to puff a lip out.

"Well, most people think my deductions are strange. I tried to explain it to him over there, on the first day taking the tube. I was nervous to go to work. He called me a freak."

Somehow, the thought of Sherlock being young and nervous and talking to strangers that weren't him made John sentimental. _Is he ever going to ask me out, or is he going to keep rambling?_ John would've been the one to ask the man on a date, but he was feeling unworthy and still wasn't completely sure if the man _dated_ men, although John was lucky that Sherlock made it so easy to tell he _liked_ men. Dating and fancying are different, however. "I think it's brilliant." John showered him with another compliment. This one left Sherlock speechless.

 _Just ask him out, idiot._ "So. I did come over here for a reason." Sherlock's knuckles were numb from holding onto the grip above him so tightly, but he didn't let go in fear that he'd do something inappropriate with his free hand. His other clenched his briefcase.

"I would hope so." John's throat tightened.

"Do you… Get off work?" Sherlock wrinkled his nose at his embarrassing detour.

"Yes. Around five."

"You weren't here on the way back, though." Sherlock called himself stupid but John seemed flattered by his interest.

John momentarily remembered Jim, but Sherlock's lime eyes snapped him back to his pleasant reality. "I got a ride from a coworker."

"Oh."

It was silent for a moment before John restored the faith.

"I'll be taking the tube tonight though, at least, I can plan on it. Back to the stop where I got on."

"I was just wondering in case you… Were busy…" Sherlock muffled his words by smothering them with his thick lips.

"I'd like to meet after work for coffee, if that's what you're trying to say."

Sherlock smiled gratefully. The men were already helping each other over hurdles, and in total, it'd been a six minute conversation.

"Do you know a place?"

"No, actually. I've just sort of gotten used to the area. But if you know somewhere that's close or even on the route, it'd be fine."

Sherlock bit his lip mindlessly and John was momentarily fazed by its change from pink to white under his teeth. _Those lips…_

"In regards of sounding completely hopeless, would it be horrible if I met you at your office after work?"

"That doesn't sound hopeless at all. It sounds perfect." John finally let his most flirtatious smile out, and Sherlock was sure the deal was sealed, however vague an outline it may be.

"John Watson. What's the address?" Sherlock crinkled his eyes in a smile as John pulled his phone from his pocket. He opened the address (which he should have had memorized by now) and handed the device to Sherlock. There was strange trust in that act. Sherlock finally took his arm down and accepted the phone. He stored the address in his mind and ever so sneakily added his number into John's contact. When the ex soldier got the phone back, the contact read _Tube Stranger (Sherlock Holmes)_ and there'd already been one message sent to it from his phone. He opened it with a curious brow, Sherlock watching as if he were unwrapping a Christmas gift.

 _"Coffee sounds great, I'm so glad you came over to talk to me. P.S. You're very handsome - JW"_ John chuckled at the message which would have been completely inappropriate if he hadn't felt like he'd known the man the majority of his adult life.

"I'm right, you are handsome." John poked Sherlock's stomach playfully, nearly too playfully for John Watson's usual taste, but he didn't regret the action once he felt the hard muscle beneath the man's shirt. He stifled a whimper. He felt the need to sign all text messages with his initials as such from today on.

Sherlock batted John's hand away softly and darted his eyes before his imagination led him to a scene where he got down on one knee and proposed in the middle of the tube. That was the extent that his emotions were running to at the moment.

"So," he said without meeting John's lustful gaze, "I'll meet you at your office today around five? Please don't text me and tell me you have to work late. I'd be terribly disappointed."

John's heart swelled stupidly but he liked feeling the gush of new attraction, "I won't be. I promise."

"Good." The men talked of pleasantries and pastries and fountains and London until John hit his stop before Sherlock. When he waved a final goodbye, complete with "See you soon" pantomime, Sherlock felt lonely and John felt empty.

It was all silly, really, how connected and in sync the men felt within moments of speaking. John had to adjust his trousers while walking away from the tube and Sherlock had to wind his mind up with deductions in order to stay sharp. John seemed to both help him think and calm his rocket of a brain at the same time. It was refreshing and desirable, that feeling, and Sherlock was ready to get used to it when he saw him again. However, he wondered if he'd ever be used to the intense sexual fantasies that sprung into his mind, knowing that he himself had never been an overly sex-driven person. Sherlock reveled in the mush, gush, and lust of the previous moment before snapping his thoughts back to those of rational intent.

"Oh, for God's sakes," he spoke aloud, earning some turns from passengers. _You've only just met the man, don't get in over your head._ He shuffled backwards to a position on the window and leaned against it as he waited for his stop, his mind forcing images away while still lingering around their hazy edges.

 _I am so in over my head,_ John thought simultaneously as he passed a food cart, his smug smile crinkling his war-worn eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're already fighting like best friends within the two seconds of meeting each other...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are they a couple?

After Sherlock appeared at John's workplace that first day, John found himself trusting the nature of their strange relationship. The first date consisted of Italian food, John the only one eating, and light chatter about their workplaces, dogs, and their first boyfriends. They didn't kiss at the end of the night, just shook hands while engaging in some serious eye gazing. The next morning on the tube, they planned to meet again after work, the romantic tension filling the entirety of the car and nearly cracking the windows with the mens' bursting hopes.

It'd been two weeks of dates since that first encounter. They met after work nearly every day and walked in the park, had coffee, or saw some sort of show. Sherlock and John conversed as friends and gazed like lovers, but nothing had happened between them that couldn't be rambled about in the workplace. Both John and Sherlock's office friends just cocked a brow playfully when one of the men went off on spiels about how great the other was. Martha snorted under her breath at how her cold shell of a coworker had warmed up, and Jim bit in his jealousy as John blushed, his pronouns now male with nothing to hide.

The first kiss was initiated by John, who felt that since Sherlock pushed through the crowd on the tube to introduce himself, it was his turn to move their relationship forward. They'd been seeing a play for the third date, and as they stood in the misty English air after the show, John propped on his toes and pecked Sherlock lightly on the lips. Sherlock was taken back but returned the kiss as he shuffled them into an alleyway. The kissing session continued until both men were hit with the full force of their growing feelings, and John pulled back, worried that he'd be jumping too far into something that didn't even have an outcome.

Their dates continued in this manner, kisses before departing for the night, sneakily leaning on one another on the tube. Both men did not let on about their growing attachments to the other, only to themselves and their confidants in the workplace. However, there was a change in their light dates when, on a Thursday night, John mentioned that he needed some help to review his first writing entry and invited Sherlock to his flat. They'd gotten off the tube at John's stop and Sherlock was led nervously around a new area and up a flight of stairs and into a mediocre apartment building. John had muttered that he just needed to find the entry when Sherlock walked through the doorframe after him. The smell of John was overpowering in his flat, and Sherlock noticed that there were worn clothes draped on chairs emitting his scent. What he noticed next, however, pushed him over the edge. John had left his military uniform out on the kitchen table as if he'd been trying it on for fun the night before. Sherlock had waited until John walked back to him, entry in hand, sunny eyes crinkling in a hopeful smile. Sherlock then grabbed him by the forearms and forcefully pushed him up against the closed door. Sherlock had whispered something incredibly heated and John hadn't had time to react before Sherlock took his mouth with his own and kissed him roughly. Sherlock, unable to suppress his attraction, lifted John's thighs up with his huge hands and settled his crotch on John's. With a groan of consent and a fluttering of the writing to the ground, John tightened his legs around Sherlock's waist and wrapped his arms around his neck. Sherlock ground into him, John's back pushed into the door with swaying pressure, Sherlock's erection rubbing his own through his clothes. They continued this as they kissed and nipped and bit at each other's necks and lips, but Sherlock turned rigid partway through, dropped John to his feet, and shoved him away from the door so he could escape through it, muttering his apologies under his husky breath. John was left heated and bruised, and he retreated with disappointment into the shower to relieve himself.

When they met on the tube Friday morning, John had to speak to Sherlock first. He told him that it was okay and he wanted to go out again that evening, at a cafe. Sherlock agreed reluctantly and they spoke of anything but the night before as they rode the tube to their offices. Once in their respected workplaces, they confronted their confidants.

Martha said that Sherlock reacted as such because he hadn't gotten reassurance that John felt the intense fancy that Sherlock did. Jim said the same, and John told him that he did, in fact, feel strongly for the man. Jim puffed a lip out in jealousy but said that John should confess if he wanted anything to happen. The men were silent the full work day, the night before replaying in their minds from every omnipotent angle.

Once back on the tube, Sherlock and John discussed their workdays. "It was alright," John said. He didn't meet Sherlock's eyes as they leaned against what was now their window, facing each other.

"Mine too. Hey, John, I wanted to say that - " the genius began. John put a finger to his lips. _I wish I could call these lips mine and only mine,_ John thought as he denied himself the pleasure of stroking his bottom lip with his thumb.

"I told you it was all fine, you don't need to say anything else." John swallowed his hurt and retracted his finger. He loved being taken by Sherlock in such a way, but he was afraid to say it. He felt that Sherlock had grown bored of his simple appearance and average life. This wasn't the case at all, however.

Sherlock lost himself in John's eyes as he often did. "Okay." _I hope you don't give up on me. On my pretentious deductions. On my inability to 'be' with you… You're the most fascinating, indescribably attractive, and loyal man I've ever had the pleasure of knowing, and it's still a surprise to me that I've nearly caught you. I have caught you, haven't I?_ Sherlock questioned the nature of their relationship as John did. They spoke lightly until the tube stopped and Sherlock was led by hand out of the tube and into the streets. He liked holding John's hand but dropped it in case John had grabbed it on accident.

Sherlock was on edge due to his disappearance the night before. He'd went home on the next tube after waiting at the platform, each chilly brush of wind hurting his ears and the love bites that John left there. He was on guard on the tube, but once he was home, he buried himself into a bundle of blankets and resisted texting John like the ridiculous man he was.

The men were walking now, towards their usual cafe. "I think I'll get something with caramel," John said as they approached. The cafe was small and quaint and shelter from the oncoming rain. It was themed with red and gold, and as they entered through the doors, bell jingling, John soaked in the scent of coffee and chocolate. Sherlock arranged his scarf and overcoat, which he now wore over his suit jacket due to the drizzling air.

"In the mood for something sweet?" Sherlock spoke lightly, his cheeks tugging his lips into a smirk. There weren't many people in the cafe, but it felt homey and lively nonetheless. John approached the counter where a round faced blonde woman smiled tiredly at them. Sherlock deduced her before he could stop himself.

"Yeah, but I already have you here." _Shit, fuck, shit, fuck - why would I say that? Bloody Christ, kill me._ John berated himself and hid his flustered face by turning his head away. Sherlock was stunned and stayed silent when John ordered. Sherlock just basked in John's sidestepping reaction.

"An iced mocha with chocolate syrup and caramel, please. What do you want?" He asked, his voice now demanding and cold.

"Tea." Sherlock couldn't take his eyes off John as he seemed to be rejecting the words he'd just let slip. The woman was tapping her chubby fingers on the cash register, a slight smirk on her face as if she knew that they were a couple. _Are we a couple?_

"One Earl Grey with sugar, also. Thank you." John knew his order by heart and paid for both of them. Sherlock smiled softly, he liked having John pay for him, even if Sherlock was technically the one with more cash. "Don't know why you like it with sugar, I can't stand it."

"Nobody asked you." Sherlock bit back to tease John, interested in how he'd react. He was so beautiful when he was snippy and snarky.

"Just sit down." _I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at me. Goddamnit._

 _John._ "You know, that play we saw the other day wasn't as well reviewed as we thought." Sherlock found a seat in the corner of the cafe, the usual mist outside becoming dense and thick and starting to fall in heavy raindrops.

"Yes, I heard. I thought the female lead could've done a better job, but I liked the set." John was eager to change the subject as he slid into the chair adjacent Sherlock's. John had no problem looking like a couple with the man, and he could care less if people whispered about them or called them names under their fingers. What he was timid of, however, was how Sherlock saw them. Obviously he didn't mind appearing around town and at shows with him, so the publicity wasn't a problem for him either. John wondered if Sherlock declared them a couple to his coworker who he talked about. John hadn't mentioned Jim. He felt like they might know each other, based on Jim's reaction.

"I did too. Look," Sherlock nodded towards and elderly couple at a table a few feet away. They were warming their hands on their tea and speaking of some little girl, most likely their grandchild. Sherlock's heart sank as his inner voice spoke, _That could be us._ He furrowed his brows and bit his lips and forced himself to counter the thought, _Sentiment doesn't help anything. You're just dating him. Calm yourself._

"What? Are you going to deduce that poor couple over there?" John swallowed hard. _It's like me and you, Sherlock._

"Would you like me to? Thank you."

"Thanks." The woman brought them their drinks and swayed her wide hips away as she flitted back to the counter, leaving the men to flirt in their own sarcastic manners. "Go for it."

"Well… The older woman and her husband there have a daughter who has just recently gotten divorced, which is why they're discussing having the grandchild over this coming weekend." Sherlock sipped his tea. It was too hot.

John mindlessly scooped whipped cream from his sweet drink and licked it off his finger. Sherlock swallowed a plaintive whimper. John hadn't noticed he'd been watching. "D'you suppose they weren't in love, their daughter and her husband?" John couldn't keep up the grumpy charade. He let himself speak foolishly as he took another bit of cream.

"I don't know, it's not my place to say." Sherlock stared John down while John kept his eyes on the elderly couple. When he finally popped them backed to Sherlock, they were quizzical, the usual dark blue shimmering with curiosity. Sherlock sipped his tea, which was now the perfect temperature.

"So you'll find everything out about them, but you won't deduce their hearts?" _Can you deduce mine?_

 _I'm no good at this, John. Please don't make me explain it._ "No, I can't."

John waited for a moment, took a huge gulp of his mocha, and swallowed it quickly, as if trying to push down his words with blended coffee. His mouth, once empty, sputtered out the words anyway. "Why not?"

Sherlock watched the reflection of John in the sugar shaker on his right before answering. John was watching him expectantly. "I just can't. Not about love. I'm not good at it."

"But you told me about your first boyfriend, so must have some clue." John was pushing now. He was getting closer to finding out where they stood between the lines of boyfriends and friends.

"John, as vast as my mind is, it's cloudy about certain categories. Love and romance happen to be one of them." Sherlock struggled to keep his pale skin light, for he could feel a blush creeping into his cheeks.

"Oh." John pushed further. "What's another one?"

 _You._ "You," Sherlock said.

John laughed nervously behind his drink, which he took another huge swig of, giving Sherlock time to sip his tea. "I'm not that confusing. I'm just an ordinary bloke."

Sherlock was all in. No turning back. "You're more fascinating than you think, John."

"Oh? And tell me how this is so, Mr. Holmes." _Don't turn back, John._

 _Just tell him._ "Don't call me that."

"Tell me." John's eyes turned mature and forceful and Sherlock heated at their intensity.

"You're one of the strongest willed people I've met. It's been difficult for you to adapt back into life after the war, and I think that's why you spend so much time with me, because I'm not really normal. I'm not like other people. It's an easier transition. You also have this strange modesty about you when you're honestly the most handsome man I've ever had the pleasure of knowing." _Keep going._ "You're confusing to me because I feel so calm around you, my ticking brain flattens out into a steady hum. I wish I could keep you in my pocket all day long so you could calm me down when I get riled, but I only see you before and after work." _And it's not enough._

John snorted. He was flustered and bashful but his prat attitude turned it into a fumbling denial. "Yeah, right. I'd just complain about how cramped it is in there."

"John, I'm telling you, I can't deduce you to infinity like I can other people."

"Try."

"No."

John and Sherlock were silent for a few minutes, sipping their drinks and tapping their toes. Something was building in John and he wanted to blurt it out, but Sherlock seemed ticked off.

_Why did you do that? Just try to deduce him. You did that first day on the tube, why can't you now? What are his eyes doing? Why is he shaking? He's licking his lip. C'mon, Sherlock. Okay, he's nervous about something. Did I upset him? No. He's thinking. He might speak._

John opened and closed his mouth quickly, he was on the brink of speaking. Sherlock spoke for him, "I'm sorry, John. I just don't want to assume something about you that isn't true. That's why I ran off last night…"

The newspaper columnist heard what he needed to and he let the confession tumble out of him and onto the wooden cafe table. "I like you," he said, his eyes strangely locked on Sherlock's. "I like you. I like you too much for having met you, what, ten days ago? Sherlock, I find you utterly magnificent. You're clever and dashing and handsome, and I'd be jealous of you if I weren't already jealous of me for being able to spend so much time with you. I feel bad for everyone that doesn't get to be with you, but I also want to know if I can be with you more. If I can ever call you mine."

Sherlock's face was impassive as he soaked in John's voice. The man across the table finished the last of his mocha with slight embarrassment. "I wonder that, too. I… I feel the same."

John's heart skipped a beat and sunk to his stomach, but his surprise turned into a grateful smirk. He wasn't going to ask if Sherlock meant it. He loved hearing it, despite the possibility that it may be untrue.

"Do you really?" The chubby cashier took their dirty cups and Sherlock pulled at his scarf.

"Yes. Shall I prove it?"

"It's not mandatory, but I'd like it." John wiped his damp hands on his knees and reveled in Sherlock's flustered face. He bit his lip and wrinkled his nose at the same time.

"Can I tell you on the way to your flat?" Sherlock stood clumsily from the table and shoved his jittery hands in his pockets.

"Why would you want to go to my fla - oh."

John smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John going to plays/musicals, oh my gosh.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They gon' bang.

The men fumbled through John's door and into his flat, attached at the lips. John was grabby at Sherlock's waist and hips, and Sherlock wouldn't tear his hands away from the beautiful shape of John's face and jaw. The men stumbled into the small living room and onto the couch, John chuckling into Sherlock's mouth as he pushed his dirty clothes away with a free hand. "Sorry," he managed, while tugging at Sherlock's bottom lip.

"Bedroom?" The nature of Sherlock's voice struck John to his core, the complete realization that he and Sherlock were about to do what he'd been dreaming of since that brilliant Monday on the tube hitting him and causing his words to fail him. "I'll take that as a yes," Sherlock picked John up from his waist and was about to carry him like a babe before John found himself and stood at attention.

"Sherlock, I am a captain. Don't be trying to pick me up." John shifted his erection and tried to stay sharp.

"I was trying to be roman - Oh. That's right. You're a captain." Sherlock's kink ignited his arousal with a biting heat and he ran off to the bedroom, shedding his large coat as he went. "C'mon, Captain John Watson."

John blinked the eagerness out of his wide eyes and hustled to catch up. When he entered his bedroom, Sherlock had shoved the dirty clothes from the bed, had opened the window, and had turned down the sheets. He sat down calmly on the bed and patted the empty spot beside him like the cliche he was.

"Prat." John said as he walked towards the sitting Sherlock and taking his face in his hands. He looked down at those incredible eyes and knew that now was the time to let out all of the wonder he'd been holding back whenever he looked into them. "Jesus Christ…" he breathed the words and leaned down, touching his damp lips to Sherlock's. Beneath him, Sherlock melted, his mouth opening softly and letting John slip himself inside. Sherlock was warm and wet and tasted like tea.

Sherlock wrapped his hands around John's hips and touched his rear, feeling its round, firm shape. He made an animalistic noise as John moved to his neck, which was now free of the scarf that always kept it hidden. Sherlock's voice came through, husky and aroused, "Get down." John obliged and kneeled beside the bed, his face now lower than Sherlock's. He still mouthed the reddening skin on Sherlock's neck, but the man had let his fingers work their way down to Sherlock's front and finger the buttons there. He worked to open them as Sherlock's hands found John's. With another push of their mouths together, Sherlock and John were sliding each other's shirts off. Sherlock was reluctant to throw his favorite shirt so carelessly away, but John took it from him and set it calmly on the bedside table. Sherlock liked that.

The extraordinary man pushed the heels of his hands into the soft bed and shimmied backwards until he was lying horizontal across the width of the bed. John took no time in following him, laying himself over him with one knee in between his legs. He pushed up into the tightening erection there. After another prolonged kiss, John lifted himself above Sherlock and took in the sight of him.

The usually impassive countenance that stung Sherlock's sharp face was now contorted into one of pleasure. His brows were furrowed and his lips were swollen and pink from John's kisses. His cheeks were topped with a slight blush and his hair was messed and askew on his forehead. When he opened his eyes and met John's, they were dark and heated, the small light of the moon from the bedroom's window turning them navy with silver flecks. The muscles in his neck stood out when he breathed and his collarbone was itching to be kissed. His chest was broad and tight, although he was skinnier than John and his ribs nearly peeked out from under his tight alabaster skin. His abdomen resembled a washboard and John was fascinated at the man, who rivaled a sculpture, who was now running his long fingers up and down his bare back. John swept his eyes down lower and noticed the jutting hipbones and flat skin that led to Sherlock's groin. A light speckle of dark hair peeked from the hem of his trousers, and as Sherlock shifted himself, the hem slipped lower. John brought his eyes back up to Sherlock's face, and after a few seconds of pure captivation of this magnificent creature, his commoner's lingo was all that he could manage. "You're bloody gorgeous." Sherlock smiled in the way that brought lines to his cheeks at that.

"Not too shabby yourself, Captain Watson." It was now Sherlock's turn to bathe in the beauty of the man who lay above him, his strong arms holding him up. John's shoulders were round and broad, his shiny scar on his left shoulder adding an extremely satisfying unique touch. His chest was tight and broad, too, but unlike Sherlock's, there was a very fine layer of blonde hair there. Sherlock touched it while his eyes found the thick muscles of John's torso and solid hips, the thinnest layer of fat covering them and making them tender and soft. "You have hair here," he said stupidly.

"No shit, Sherlock." John just smiled, his round face crinkling his eyes up and causing his cheeks to bunch. He was rugged and handsome, but in this moment, he looked almost serene.

"Don't be mean. Now, are we going to continue?" Sherlock was in awe that he had wit at all, given that his head was going fuzzy with the feel of John's knee between his legs.

"Yes, please." John kissed Sherlock, lightly this time, before pulling back. "Wait." Sherlock took the opportunity of John sitting up to move vertical onto the bed. "I always thought you weren't a sexual person," John continued as he unbuttoned his trousers and removed his shoes. Sherlock noticed and did the same as he spoke.

"I'm not, usually. But with you, I am." _He cares._

 _Holy shit, that's hot._ "So you're okay?" John shed his trousers and was now down to his black pants. Sherlock placed his own clothes on the bedside table, his pants blue.

"Yes, I'm okay." He reached out his arms and John crawled into them, straddling Sherlock's lap with his own. His pants were tented and he felt ridiculous, but Sherlock's were too, on closer inspection, and he pressed his erection into Sherlock's eagerly. He ground into him as Sherlock had him the night before, but the thin fabric of their pants were all that restricted them now.

"Do you bottom?" John breathed as he gripped the headboard and bit the shell of Sherlock's ear.

"Yes, John." Sherlock was getting irritated by the delay but was grateful beyond measure at John's concern. He let his hands find John's back and his rolling spine, his hips gyrating into his own.

"I was just wonder - "

"Shut up." John was taken back by Sherlock's biting words but forgave him when Sherlock drew his bottom lip into his mouth and sucked on it before letting it slip out with a pop. He then kissed his chin, neck and collarbone, trailing his lips down as far as his neck would let him from his position. John dipped his head back and drew in a breath, almost laughing at Sherlock's eagerness. He decided not to talk for a few minutes as he ground into Sherlock, the pleasure in his stomach soon traveling through him and dampening the tip of his cock. Sherlock was beginning to lose sense, as well, as the familiar feeling of a needy expanse rose in his thighs. He needed to spread them or change positions, for he feared he might snap with the tightening coil spinning in him. He wasn't new to the feeling of arousal and pleasure, but he hadn't been with someone else in more than a long time. Sherlock didn't say anything, for he knew that John probably had more than enough experience from the war and before to cover the both of them.

John felt himself getting heady and impatient, so he rolled off Sherlock and onto his back. He took a second to calm down, and Sherlock followed his lead. When the moment was over, he flipped onto his stomach and army crawled on his elbows towards Sherlock's groin. He heard Sherlock's breath hitch as he came inches away from his tented pants, a dark spot arising at the tip of his erection. "John…" It was barely a word, just the first letter and a breath, but John took it as a sign to continue. He did positioned himself so that he could grind into the bed as he worked on Sherlock.

The sight of John's soft blonde head between his legs was nearly a fantasy, but as he brought his lips closer to Sherlock's hidden cock, reality spun into view. Sherlock forced his thighs apart further, as if he couldn't have his cock go untouched any longer. John obliged and touched the tip with his closed mouth, testing Sherlock out. By the noise Sherlock then made, John leaned forward and took the elastic hem of Sherlock's pants in his teeth and pulled it up and over his cock. He pulled them down his thighs and off his calves, until they slid off his feet and fell to the floor silently. John finally allowed himself to look at Sherlock as he made his way back up his limbs.

Sherlock's cock was like the rest of him, pale, rigid, and narrow. It was beautiful, as was he, and its tip was pink with impatience. John did not hesitate to take its head into his mouth. John let his hands slide up the flat expanse of Sherlock's stomach and down his hips, where they rested and squeezed. His blunt nails dug into the tight skin there, and Sherlock seemed to like the dull pain. John continued to suck Sherlock off, and the lucky man bit his lip in appreciation. John spent the next few minutes rolling his tongue around the glans and sucking in his cheeks as he pushed it deeper into his mouth. He felt like a god giving someone so magnificent such a primal pleasure, and he felt like the gasps and moans that came from the man were only for him. He assumptions proved correct when Sherlock wove one finger into his thin hair and let John's name escape his lips.

John moved his head in time with his own hips, but he solely focused on pleasuring his partner, although his stomach was coiling up in that same impatience. "John, stop." Sherlock said, his own voice horny and heated. He didn't want John to stop, but he said it anyway, for he wanted to last as long as possible and give, as well as receive.

"Not good?" John said, his lips shiny with saliva.

"Very good. Switch with me." Sherlock closed his thighs and crawled over John, his long limbs clambering over the man. John pulled himself forward and replaced Sherlock's position, which was now a light imprint in the bed. He was about to pull off his pants, but Sherlock stopped his hands with his own. "No, let me."

Sherlock took John's spot, but laid down on his side, his hips twisted. He grabbed himself and began stroking slowly, and the view of that position alone could have pushed John over the edge. Sherlock brought his other hand to John's tented pants and touched him cautiously. John hissed at the sight of Sherlock's slender, pale fingers working their way around the black fabric of his pants. Sherlock pulled the hem over it with his trembling fingers as John had done with his teeth, but he let John kick them off himself. Sherlock's bright eyes widened as he took in the view before him.

Peach in color and rather thick, John's cock seemed to have the silkiest of foreskins and nearly beckoned Sherlock to draw it between his cupid's bow lips. He did, the reddening head grateful at the pleasure. John rolled his neck back and let out a whorish moan. Sherlock didn't necessarily know what he was doing, but he used his hand to pump John slowly and his tongue and mouth to suck on the head. John seemed to like it, for he found his hands pulling at the wild curls on Sherlock's head. Sherlock mimicked what John had done to him, and attempted to match the rhythm of his two hands, as well as his tongue.

John loved watching Sherlock's cheekbones become more prominent as he drew them in. Sherlock flicked his eyes up at John and he had to look away from their intense turquoise, which had been cerulean earlier that night. _Damn him and his eyes,_ John thought. Sherlock forced himself deeper down on John, his hand now moving out of the way for his lips and John's snarky thoughts melted away.

He gasped and moaned erratically until they became too frequent, and Sherlock pulled off him. "John," he said, his voice an octave lower than it usually was.

"Sherlock." John's own words cracked through his arousal.

"Do you have stuff?" Sherlock rolled his neck with a satisfying pop and John winced.

"Actually, yeah. In hopes that I'd get laid after I came back from the war, I bought some. Seemed I was smart to do so. Not that this is just… getting laid…" John swallowed his words and reached for the drawer below Sherlock's clothes. He opened it and retrieved a condom and an unopened packet of lubrication. He wished he could put the condom back, but his mind replayed the cheesy safe sex video from his teenage years. _Remember safe sex when with a new partner, everyone!_ The animated rabbit had said. John rolled his eyes and shut the drawer.

 _Maybe next time?_ He thought. He couldn't overstep his boundaries with Sherlock, especially if he was new to bottoming or at least hadn't in a few years. Sherlock noticed John's discomfort at having to retrieve a condom, but he was grateful that he was prepared and safe. It caused him to kiss him on the cheek. John's doubt disappeared with that, and he was happy just to be with Sherlock in any form.

The men changed positions, Sherlock on his back below John. They kissed for a few minutes, John's hands finding all the new spots of Sherlock and seeing what sort of noise it caused him to make. Once the men were comfortable and warm, the slightly open window blowing a slight night breeze in.

"I'm happy," John said before he pressed a kiss to the taught skin below Sherlock's ear.

"Good. I am, too." Sherlock ran his tongue over his top lip, tasting John's sweet caramel that seemed to have soaked into his mouth. John raised his head from Sherlock's neck and made eye contact with him, his brows knitting together in a silent question of consent. Sherlock nodded.

John reached below himself and took Sherlock's thighs in each of his hands. He pushed the solid limbs up, and fitted one hand in the crook of his knee. He realized that he need two hands to open the packet of lube, so he gave Sherlock's thighs to the owner of them to hold. Sherlock suppressed a laugh. John ripped the packet and squeezed the slimy substance onto the index and middle fingers of his right hand. He rolled them together and hopes of warming it up. Sherlock eyed him curiously.

John noticed that he was watching him and leaned forward to kiss his forehead. Sherlock closed his eyes at the feel of John's lips below his messy hair, and braced himself for John's entry. John dipped his head so his own forehead was touching Sherlock's, his breath on Sherlock's sharp nose. Sherlock jumped with the cold feeling that now spread into his arse, but it soon became warm and filling. John pushed and pulled one finger in until he felt Sherlock rock with heavy breaths below him. He added the second finger, causing a shiver to course through the taller man. John kissed a pathway down Sherlock's neck, over his adam's apple, and down his chest. He traced Sherlock's contracting abdomen muscles as he twisted his fingers in and out, and kissed the trail of black hair that lead him to Sherlock's groin. He resisted the urge to call Sherlock gorgeous again by stuffing his mouth with Sherlock's cock.

When Sherlock's noises, movements, and twitching thighs made John aware that he was ready, he pulled his fingers out and wiped them on his bed nonchalantly. He moved onto his knees from the strange half-crouched position he'd been in previously, and pressed his thighs into Sherlock's bum, his thighs raised and spread. With one final look at the man from head to groin, John opened the condom and rolled it on as he'd done many times before. This time, however, the person he was with looked at him gratefully and softly. Sherlock's smiling face was rarely held for so long, but it was now, and as John threw the packet off the bed, he found his free hand being entwined with Sherlock's fingers.

John gave him a squeeze and guided his cock to the base of Sherlock's cleft with his right hand. He pushed the head in slowly, his eyes flicking from the sight of himself disappearing into Sherlock to the man's face, which rivaled the mystery of the universe in its beauty. Sherlock bit his lip and bore down on the discomfort, but as John pushed farther in, he found the painful expanse to be strangely pleasurable.

"Okay?" John asked when the base of his cock fit snugly below Sherlock's.

"Better than okay." John pulled Sherlock's legs around his waist and lowered himself onto his elbows so he could kiss him. Sherlock wrapped and hooked his ankles together at John's back, while his hands found a place to rest on John's hip and shoulder. John deepened the kiss as he began to move, and Sherlock's head streamed a narration as he got used to the feeling of John inside him.

 _This is happening, John is here. John is with me. John took care of me, respected me, and was kind to me. Much different from the first time when I was younger. John's great. I like John. John._ Sherlock smiled stupidly before the pleasure hit him and changed his mouth into a naughty "O" sort of shape.

John let his thoughts finally come to him as he rocked into Sherlock, pulling in and out slowly. _This is Sherlock. The man who knows everything about everyone, the man who's exception to sex is me, the man who has more grace and regality than the queen._ Sherlock moaned. _Well, sort of._

Sherlock and John continued to pulse slowly together for a lovely five minutes until Sherlock's hands began digging into John's hip. The men were both too horny to have kept up the game for very long. He increased his speed and starting pushing upwards more. Sherlock felt something spark in him and a strangled sound slipped from his throat.

"I found your spot," John said. His playful saying came out sexier than he'd hoped, but Sherlock seemed to prefer it as such.

"Y - yes, you did." Sherlock clawed at John's back. He felt his legs melt and shiver, his stomach coiling and filling. His heart fluttered and his fingers needed something to squeeze, so he found both of John's hands at his sides and slipped them below his clenching palms.

John felt every bit of Sherlock contract and tremor around him, and he increased in gyration, while still hitting the spot directly. Sherlock gasped below him and was soon met with equal noises from John.

The men were both safe, happy, and content; as well as horny, passionate, and impatient. John couldn't help but dive deeper and faster into Sherlock, and his movements released the loudest of moans yet. Sherlock's noises mixed with John's name, and John decided to call out Sherlock's. It sounded broken and sexy on his own lips, and it was enough to drive him to the edge of his orgasm. He squeezed Sherlock's hands as a sign that he was close, but he knew his body well enough to give Sherlock time to let himself go.

Sherlock's orgasm didn't hit him like a wave, a wall, or even a spark - it was drawn out, increasing in pleasure and taking him to the heights that his seldom masturbation never did. He lost control of his legs and mouth, and his eyes rolled back. He melted and shook, pushing his own hips into John as the man hit his prostate over and over, driving Sherlock mad. Finally the pleasure became too great and he felt its full force. He came in a stream, but it bounced due to his rocking movement and landed in droplets on his own chest and stomach. _Oh, God._ With a final noise, he called out "Captain Watson," his kink in full swing.

John had composed himself enough to stay fine until after Sherlock came, but the man's desperate cry of his name caused him to tighten and ride the cusp of his own orgasm. _Fuck!_ He thrusted into Sherlock, his hands still grasping Sherlock's helplessly, and said Sherlock's name once more, the whorish sound of his own voice causing him to clench and release inside Sherlock. He came and slowed his movements, his rocking and pushing coming to a stop. He collapsed on top of Sherlock and was too weak to pull himself out or even move his head to kiss the man.

The men breathed and composed themselves until their warm bodies cooled and began to chill with the breeze. John finally raised himself, his arms jittery, and pulled out of Sherlock. He took the condom from himself and threw it away. He returned to the bed and slipped below the covers, Sherlock doing the same, although his legs and torso were weak and sore.

John curled up onto Sherlock's side and rested his head on his chest, drawing the covers, which were warm from their body heat, up to his chin. Sherlock patted his head meekly. Once satisfied and drifting off, Sherlock spoke, his voice sleepy and

"Hi," he whispered.

"Hello," John responded, his lips brushing Sherlock's chest.

 _I don't know about love, but I know this much._ "I like you," Sherlock said.

"I like you, too." _Maybe even love you._ John let sleep take him, and he succumbed to it with a small smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sassy John's internal dialogue is so great, especially that part about the Queen.

**Author's Note:**

> *crashes through your window*   
> "JOHNLOCK"
> 
> Writing them meeting each other is literally the best thing ever because it's like, we know them already, but they don't. ehehe.


End file.
